Dance of the Wolves
by Highclass
Summary: SLASH...draco surprises harry, and the dance is on.


**It was never quiet in the meal hall. Ever. With all the houses, and all the young witches and wizards talking, you were lucky if you could even think about hearing yourself think. The three friends sat in their normal seats, Hermione and Ron across the table from The Boy Who Lived. They chatted lowly to one another about this and that, but the darker-haired one of the three was paying little attention to what his counterparts were saying.**

**Harry's emerald gaze shifted over Hermione's shoulder, slightly, just enough to where his friends wouldn't notice. This was a skill he had learned to master through his years at Hogwarts. If his line of focus angled too far away from the conversation, they would notice and comment. They would ask questions. And he still wasn't very good at avoiding. His 'poker face' was extremely underdeveloped.**

**As was quickly proven when Hermione's ever-inquiring voice reached his overly-sensitive ears. He cringed slightly at the thought of questioning, but forced a smile and re-directed his gaze toward his friends. "What's wrong, Harry?" Hermione repeated. Ron looked at her, and then quizzically to Harry. This was normal. Ron wasn't usually the first to notice something, but as soon as Hermione piped up, Ron was on the scent like a bloodhound. **

"**Nothing," Harry lied, a bit too quickly. Hermione opened her mouth to retort, but Harry found himself giving her a look that provoked no more questioning. She promptly closed her lips, but her eyes still lingered, always wondering. Ron shrugged, deciding it was in his best interest not to get involved. "I have to go," Harry mumbled and got up, quickly exiting the hall. **

**He ventured into the courtyard, seeking out the stone bench beneath a blossoming tree. He knew not what breed of tree it was, or what it's fruit was, but he knew that it let off a enticing scent, and it calmed his nerves. He murmured something to his wand and a soft blue light emitted from it's tip, allowing him a small range of vision. He sighed quickly, and thought of the events that occurred the night before.**

**Night Before**

_Harry wandered the halls, whistling a hollow tune to break the silence. Even the ghosts and portraits were calm. He had no particular destination in mind. He just felt an urge to walk with no immediate gratification in sight. He wondered, introspectively, if it was a metaphor for his life. Would he always be wandering, with no road, for the rest of his life? After all the wars, after all the horrible carnage, after all the regrets, would he still have something to live for? Or would he never move forward?_

_A soft-fallen footstep broke his concentration, and he spun, only to face his enemy since he first stepped foot at Hogwarts, Draco Malfoy. The silver-blue eyes glared from the darkness of the corridor, glowing in the moonlight coming in from the tall windows. "Malfoy," Harry whispered, surprised and almost frightened. He'd never known Draco to not have the first word. Or to be as silent and still as he was being at this moment. What was his plan? Harry slightly tightened his grip on his wand, just enough to be a little more sure of himself. Malfoy still did not move. _

_Harry took a small step forward, toward the Slytherin, and then another and another until only a matter of inches separated the two. Harry was amazed at seeing the color of Draco's eyes. They were even more icy than usual, dead staring into Harry's own ivy-colored orbs. It sent a small chill up Harry's spine. _

"_Potter," Malfoy hissed, his lips never seeming to move at all. He closed the distance between them, his body dangerously close to the darker-haired prince. Harry felt the breath hitch in his throat. _

_He remembered his thoughts from earlier, and fought the weakness within him. He snarled slightly at Malfoy, not willing to have his space invaded by a creature so dark and lowly. "What do you want?" The grip on his wand tightened even more and raised slightly in warning. Draco didn't flinch. He kept his stance abrupt and agitated, like a wolf ready to engage in a territorial battle._

_Harry almost smirked at the comparison. They were like wolves. The silver haired god, and his counterpart, the onyx-furred warrior. How often had they circled each other, hackles raised, frothing and snarling over the right to win. How often had they almost killed each other? How often---_

_Harry's thoughts were interrupted as Draco's lips met his. The kiss was fleeting, feathery, barely there. Harry felt the blood flush into his cheeks, and his heartbeat race. He worried that Malfoy would be able to hear it, breaking though his ribs._

_Potter's fist connected elegantly with Draco's jaw, forcing the pale-haired one to stumble away, his palm raising to rest and protect his wounded cheek. The wolf had been injured, and was standing a ways away from his attacker, his gaze silver and harsh. Harry found himself panting in anger, and confusion. He turned on his heel and left._

Harry sighed and hung his head. The thoughts of the night before befuddled him. He felt guilty, and yet, he felt strong. 

A familiar voice reached his ears as he was thinking. The word 'Potter' could barely be recognized above the gentle breeze ruffling the leaves and buds on the tree. Harry slowly turned his gaze toward the voice and saw Malfoy approaching. Harry said nothing as the other wizard joined him on the bench. Harry could see the outline of the bruise on Draco's cheek, tainting his fair skin a horrid blue-purple. Had he really hit him that hard? Was he really that strong? Malfoy chuckled.

"Not to worry, Potter. It looks a lot worse than it feels." Harry met Draco's gaze dead-on, searching within his eyes for some sort of emotion leading to a scheme, but he found nothing. "Hell of a right hook you got there, mate."

"What do you want, Malfoy?" Harry almost-growled, keeping his emotions under wraps. Draco grinned slightly. Just a small twitch at the corner of his mouth. Nearly invisible to anyone that wasn't inspecting him as closely as Harry was.

"To finish what I started is all."

With that, their lips met again. This time, however, the kiss was backed by unparalleled intent. Malfoy's lips were powerful, and his tongue even more so as he slipped into Harry's mouth, picking a fight for dominance. Harry felt no urge to move, or hit the other wizard. He simply returned the kiss, attempting more force than the other. They settled that way, and the kiss deepened, no longer a struggle. Intimate. Willing. Loving? Neither knew. 

But as Hermione gazed at them from the door, she smiled. She knew not where this new-found fling was going, or how it would end. She felt the itch of nervousness, knowing it could end badly, but leaned leisurely against the doorframe. So this is what he was hiding. This is what he was giddy about. Why he was so distracted. Her grin widened.

The two wolves were no longer fighting for territory. Now, it was a simple, wild, beautiful war for dominance. Nature was to be marveled.


End file.
